Guiding Light
by used romance
Summary: ONESHOT Harry meets spirits - light and dark alike. pre-slash, hints of chan Lucius/Harry


**Author's Note**: So this story came from one of the prompts (Evidence) in _Sweet Talk_. Like I said there, I love vampires. I had to have one vampire!Lucius fic simply because in my mind, Lucius makes a super-hot vampire. Jason Isaacs attributed much to that.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own these characters. I make no money from these works.

**Warnings**: pre-slash (m/m), AU (non-magic), abuse, minor, supernatural, violence

**Being Part One of Four **

Harry didn't hate his family. They were all he knew, after all. He was rarely allowed outside, and when he was, it was only to go to the market to fetch this or that for his Aunt Petunia. This meant he rarely had the opportunity to witness what a complete and "normal" family was supposed to be, what it should look like to be loved.

So he lived on this oppressive life, unknowingly deprived of that emotion, love. He neither gave it nor received it, and to him, the anger and hatred shown to him was completely natural in a family. It was familiar, expected.

That is, until the night the strange man came to him.

It wasn't too uncommon for him to go to sleep - on a sheet over a pile of hay - freshly bruised and bloodied, but one night, Uncle Vernon was particularly brutal. He hadn't meant to be so clumsy, but while he was serving the family their dinner, he dropped the bowl of stew. As if the burn wasn't enough of a punishment, Uncle Vernon - who was already upset because of one of his business negotiations gone wrong - took his entire day's frustrations out on the thin boy.

Harry managed to hold his tears until he was out of the man's sight, but when he allowed himself to finally cry, the torrents of tears was unstoppable. He thought that he would _die _from the pain - How could anyone survive with so much blood flowing out of them, he wondered. Ever part of him was throbbing or stinging and he couldn't bear this for much longer, but it was impossible for him to sleep in his state.

Then he heard someone crooning in the darkness, "Hush, love, it'll be fine."

And though his tears continued, Harry's sobs stopped and he froze with fear, eyes shut, only listening. The sound was deep enough for Harry to know it was a man speaking, but if that was the case, the only one who this could be was Uncle Vernon…

But there was no mocking tone in his voice. There was no malice. The voice was tinted with something else, something soothing to him even in it's barely audible state, something Harry couldn't recognize enough to name, but he immediately craved more of it.

Warily, he finally opened his eyes, only to have to shut them again because of the brightness that greeted him. All he saw in the first glimpse was white - pure light emanating from this stranger, but also a warmth that Harry could feel even from this distance.

He opened his eyes - slowly this time - in an attempt to make out what he could of the man.

Though everything about him seemed to glow, Harry managed to see that the man was clothed in white, and he had dark hair and brown eyes that were watching Harry with a gentleness that was foreign to the boy. He looked younger than Harry's uncle, but there was a maturity about him that kept Harry from demanding who he was - yet there was also something youthful in the was his face was sculpted, welcoming and warm and abnormally beautiful that made Harry not want to look away.

There was no audible rustle of the man's white robes and he slowly moved towards Harry, kneeling beside him and putting a hand on the boy's face.

"Hey, now," he cooed, stoking the bruised cheek lightly with the knuckle of a single finger. "I'm going to make the pain go away, alright? Just stay still for me."

Harry frowned, but knew that if the man wanted to hurt him even more, he could do nothing to stop him, so he complied, as he was wont to do when ordered.

The hand on Harry's cheek moved to the back of his head, the fingers massaging his scalp before the man leaned over him to kiss his forehead.

With the kiss, as the man had promised, all the pain went away -_ all _of it, even the little broken thing inside him Harry never knew was broken was mending with that kiss and his heart was full of contentment, and that contentment spread throughout him, like the feeling of hot tea spreading from his stomach to warm his entire body.

It was almost too much for Harry, and he began to cry again, this time - for the first time - with happiness.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he found himself cradled on the man's lap with his head on the broad chest and fingers combing through his hair.

"There, all cried out now, aren't you?" The man pressed his cheek to the top of Harry's head and sighed deeply, holding tightly to him as if it wasn't just for Harry's sake.

"W- Who are you?" Harry asked without fear - because he knew no one who could deliver Harry from that wretched pain could possibly harm him.

"I am…" The man hesitated his speech and his movements, considering the question carefully before stating simply, "I am James." And he began to toy with each of Harry's fingers, as if he had never seen anything as precious as a child's small digits.

"Then… _What_ are you?"

"Ah, now that's a complicated question." James' brow furrowed like Harry's did when he was hard-pressed, and he chewed the right end of his bottom lip like Harry did, too.

"It's a secret, isn't it?" he asked carefully.

James nodded sadly. "There are many things I'm not to tell you, Harry. But I can be whatever you wish me to be."

Harry pondered on this for a moment, interlocking his fingers with James' and separating them again and again. "Will you be my friend?"

"I will," he promised with the same warm smile.

The hands stilled, twined together. "I've never had a friend before," he whispered, staring longingly at the hands as if it, like James, was something he could only be imagining.

But noting the sad expression, James lifted the child's face in his free hand. "You will always have me, Harry. Forever."

And Harry believed him.

**Being Part Two of Four**

Over the next few months, more people like James came to Harry. The very next person who came to him was a glassy-eyed woman, who held him for the entire time she was there. She looked very different from James and himself with red hair and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were the only familiar thing about her, as green as Harry's own. Besides James, she, Lily, was probably his favorite visitor.

They didn't come to him every night, just when he was too hurt to heal properly on his own, and one day, Harry asked Lily about it.

"I wish we could be here for you all the time," she whispered, her eyes going glassy again, "If only- But we can't. We could get in to trouble for being here at all, but when you need us most, we will be here."

"Get in trouble? With who?" he asked anxiously, knowing plenty about getting in trouble.

She just smiled and pet his hair, completely at ease and trying to quell his worry. "You'll know some day, love."

He knew they were all related somehow - one woman had Lily's hair, another man had Harry's and Lily's eyes, another had James' physique - and as he talked, he imagined they all fashioned a family around him, a refuge from the hostile one just beneath him.

He couldn't explain how elated he felt every time he thought of them, it was like the experience of first feeling their presence - impossible to comprehend, yet the feeling that his heart would explode with happiness was painfully welcome. And so Harry finally experienced care, and dared he think it, _love. _

But everything changed when a visitor of a different sort came to him.

Uncle Vernon was extremely upset that night. The men he worked with all seemed to be falling through with their payments - _no one_ could really give Vernon his money as quickly as he demanded it, so the walrus-like man took his anger out on the pitiful excuse for a boy they kept in the uppermost room of the house.

When his uncle was through with him, Harry's pale skin was spotted in purple bruises and cuts. It hurt, yes, but the pain was tolerable because he knew that soon enough, it would stop, and he would be in the arms of someone who wanted him even if his current family didn't.

And he waited… and waited… he fell asleep in calm expectation, knowing for sure someone would come for him eventually.

What he didn't know was those familiar spirits were trying to fight their way to him, but there was something much darker in the vicinity keeping them from him.

HPLMHP

Lucius was trying to get to France as quickly as possible, but it seemed fate would not smile on him tonight; now he was riding through London instead of staying in the carriage that had taken him from Birmingham because of one simple mistake; the foolish driver had forgotten about Lucius' "condition" and hadn't informed him when dawn was approaching, but kept driving. It was close to midday when Lucius realized what the detestable heat was.

Now the buffoon was dead and Lucius was cold and _hungry_. He recalled how he had left the driver's neck broken, a bullet in his head, and no gold to speak of - standard evidence of a run-in with highwaymen. Lucius checked into the nearby tavern to recuperate from the light sunburns he received, and he was so hasty to get to France that he forgot to feed.

The town he was passing through was on the southern outskirts of London, smaller and much less populated, which was a pity considering what a sight Lucius believed himself to be - his trim figure on his white steed, magnificent white cape (the only thing that shielded him from burning to a crisp that afternoon) billowing behind him, and his fair hair much in the same fashion, wildly dancing in the wind - among the drab backdrop of the town. The houses were all the same to him, weakly crafted, poorly kept, and not nearly as elaborate as the French houses he lived among. There was nothing to keep him from speeding through the town as quickly as possible so as to return to his wonderful home, to the lap of luxury where hundreds of necks were just _waiting_ to be bitten into, hundreds of unknowing players in his game of predator and prey -

Then, of course, _something_ made him pull on the reigns to stop the horse as quickly as possible.

A scent.

The scent of blood, fresh, young, _strong_ blood.

Lucius looked around - of course there was not a soul out this late, and there were no shady alleys in which a theft or murder could occur… The blood was in one of the houses. He slipped off the horse and silently backtracked to where he first sensed the scent.

He stopped in front of the house, hearing the steady breathing of three sleeping inhabitants.

The fourth inhabitant's breathing was short, staggering, pained, but it was this one who called to Lucius.

He looked around, and sensing no one that would see him, he scaled up the wall and entered the house through the window of the attic. He slipped in quietly and walked to the pile hay on which his prey seemed to be sleeping. He leaned closer, inhaling slowly and counting the number of wounds that marked the boy - eight visible, open, enticing wounds on the boy's arms, along with bruises on his face and neck… Lucius had no pity in him. Whatever had happened to this boy was really none of his concern, all he felt was the undeniable bloodlust.

One hand stroked a purpled cheek, the other began to grasp the neck, and the boy's eyes suddenly opened.

There was fear - as Lucius expected - but this was followed by a calmness Lucius thought was unjustified.

The boy said softly, "I was afraid you wouldn't come."

Lucius drew back from him into the far wall, shielded by the shadow which the moonlight did not reach.

"Wait!" the boy exclaimed, sitting up and staring at the spot saw Lucius disappear to, though he didn't seem to be able to see him, much as he squinted. "Where are you going?"

Thinking quickly, Lucius gave a small laugh. "My apologies." He put on a small smile and slowly stepped forward, not too close to the child, but far enough for the boy to see him. He obviously seemed to expect Lucius, or someone like Lucius, but how was that possible? He was the only one for miles, surely, or else he would have sensed it. "There were some difficulties on the way," he tried, sure that such a trivial sentence would give him a little more time to figure out how to get a taste of that delicious-smelling blood.

But he may as well have been silent, for the boy was staring at him intently, from his elaborate clothing to his strange, fair hair and pale skin.

"You're not like the others."

As much as Lucius loved being told how extraordinary, he knew this was no sort of compliment. The boy was beginning to become suspicious. He pressed his lips together, wondering if now was the time to devour this strange child.

"Aren't you going to fix me?" he asked with uncertainty, showing his bloodied arm, only a portion of the damage Lucius knew the boy had gone through.

He gave a quick nod, moving forward and preparing to take the boy in his arms, feeling his eyeteeth elongating behind his teeth - but again, the boy surprised him by sinking against him willingly, closing his eyes and sighing in relief at what he expected Lucius to do.

Heal him? Well, Lucius supposed he had the means. It wouldn't do for the boy to continue leaking the precious fluid in light of the feast he expected. He took one of the boy's hands, extending it to inspect the wounds. He licked his lips, leaning down to inhale the scent of the blood still oozing out of the cuts. He bit his bottom lip and pressed it to the cut, smearing their blood together. His blood healed the human, and he licked traces of blood from the boy's skin, leaving it spotless. He repeated this action for every visible wound, knowing there were only bruises from his waist down - though that wasn't to say there was any small amount of damage done, but it wasn't permanent.

Upon finishing, he lowered his head and pressed a handkerchief to his lips.

"James usually does it with one kiss," the boy whispered when Lucius put the cloth away. He became notably more still with every healed wound, and now Lucius knew why. There went his suspicion that the boy's visitor was a kindred creature. Not even with the most potent blood could anyone heal all of the boy's wounds without leaving a permanent mark on him.

"I am not James," Lucius whispered, though some of his annoyance finally started to seep into his voice.

"I know that," Harry responded with equal annoyance. His brow furrowed briefly, before smoothing out with th small smile on his lips.

"But I think we can be friends."

**Being Part Three of Four**

Harry didn't know why everyone stopped coming to see him. He really missed Iris, who always told him stories about Aunt Petunia, and Charles, who could always make him laugh, and Lily - he winced at the thought of how much she missed him, she always told him so when she came to see him, and James, who promised -

But at least, Harry thought, he had Lucius.

He blushed a bit thinking about the man. Like he said on their first night together, he was not James. When James held him, it was like being wrapped in one of those thick blankets in Dudley's bed (not that anyone knew he'd felt it once before when the Durselys were at church). When Lucius held him, he shivered because of how cold Lucius was. He kissed him a lot more than James did, too, which made his heart sound louder in his chest, and Lucius said he didn't mind that, because apparently, he could hear it too.

He thought maybe Lucius' appearance had something to do with everyone else leaving, but he was sure it was only temporary. After all, it had been only a few weeks - okay, so maybe it was a few months, but James promised.

He still sat by the window every night, waiting for the figure in white to join him.

Because even though he really missed Lily and James and everyone, at least Lucius came to him every night, so he was never lonely again.

From his place in the highest room in the boarding house across the road, Lucius watched the small, green-eyed boy until he finally ceded and left his nightly vigil at the window. He continued to wait until he could hear the defined pattern of his breath during sleep. Usually, he could come as soon as the rest of the boy's wretched family was in bed, but after Lucius healed him and he talk himself out, Harry sometimes just sat in Lucius' arms staring up into his face, or else out the window, as if thinking of something he didn't want Lucius to know about.

Of course, Lucius wasn't worried. Harry was only a child, after all, but it disconcerted him to see someone so young so pensive. It was never enough to keep him away, though, and night after night, he returned to spend hours wrapped up with Harry. He didn't know what bound him to the boy, though he had a sneaking suspicion that it was his eyes. They were certainly something... extraordinary (or as the boy's family favored, _abnormal_).

Just like Harry, he stayed watching the night for hours, only moving when the faintest of light began to touch the sky. He swung open the window and stepped out into the air, moving as swiftly as wind across the deserted square and into Harry's room.

He stroked the messy hair and murmured under his breath, "My love, you must wake. I haven't much time tonight."

When the accursed eyes did open, they rested on Lucius for a moment, flicked towards the window, then looked at Lucius filled with hurt.

"It's almost morning. Where have you been?"

Instead of being annoyed at the tone, Lucius pressed a kiss to the boy's knuckles. "You never sleep as soundly as you should when we part. I wanted you to sleep more tonight rather than brood or plot or whatever it is you do," he ended with a smile, tracing the side of the small, round face with a finger. Under the finger, blood blossomed and reddened the cheek.

"I do not brood or plot," he argued, though Lucius thought his lips were forming too cute of a pout to take the boy seriously. He grabbed Lucius' hand when it began to venture past his collar bone, and the room was filled with the _allegro_ tempo of the boy's precious heartbeat. "I try to memorize you," he stated breathlessly. "I can never concentrate enough to do it while you're here."

Grey eyes widened in surprise. _There_! That was the spell that Lucius was convinced Harry had on him. Except it was no sort of witchcraft, no cunning strategy; it was the unrelenting, unhesitant, pure honestly the boy so readily offered. And Lucius couldn't bring himself to find the declaration suspicious; how could the boy anticipate the effect it would have on Lucius? Yes, he was a clever boy, but he had nowhere near that level of slyness. He drew the boy out from the sheets and onto his lap, and before he could recover from the startled gasp, Lucius pressed their mouths together to share a blood kiss, something he knew the boy treasured because how rare it was - Lucius was afraid of, one day, giving the boy _too much_... But for now, he needed to give him some token to show his... desire? …Gratitude?

… Love?

Harry's chest was heaving when Lucius finally drew him away, but the small fingers clung to the soft material of the expensive vestments. He made a small sound, and Lucius hurriedly placed him on the bed, effortlessly removed the fingers and the sparse garments covering the young body. He loved to see his mark on the pale flesh, but knew that others were too wary and couldn't make his mark visible to them.

"Where shall I give you my kiss, precious?"

Lucius' lips passed over the very active artery in the neck, down the slim torso, and placed his large hands on the bony hips and lips on the boys inner thigh, so deliciously close to the immature boyhood, which even now, small hands covered timidly. He licked his lips and slowly drew them back to unveil his elongated eyeteeth, trying to regain a scrap of control before allowing his bestial hunger to control him so near his beloved.

The boy _could not _be harmed, least of all by him. The beast reared and bucked, but Lucius has always been a superb rider of unyielding animals, and even one part of his very nature would not best him.

Finally, finally he moved closer to the blood warm flesh. He flicked his tongue over the skin and shuddered, feeling his love still beneath him. And when the teeth broke through the skin, before Harry could let sound the whimper surely building up, Lucius lapped at the blood welling from the wound, and both sighed and simultaneously attempted to draw the other nearer, until Lucius couldn't sense anything, not the musty attic, not the village just outside the window, nothing but _Harry_.

**Being the Final Part**

"Hey, little one. I've missed you so much."

Harry opened his eyes to the radiant white of James' robes. Closing them again, he snuggled deeper into the man's warmth. "James," he sighed happily, purring when the man began to stroke his hair.

"But I'm afraid we can't see you anymore."

It was like he hadn't had a proper sleep in days, and he was finally home in his own bed again.

"Your new friend is keeping us from you. I'm afraid this is goodbye."

Jerking upright in his bed, Harry gasped and looked around for some trace of his friend. It wasn't real - so why could he still feel where James' fingers had rubbed along his scalp?

He threw open the window and looked around at the square below. He was here, he knew it was true. But what had is words meant?

"James!" he called out into the empty night. "James! You promised! You said forever!"

"Forever, I promise, I promise, Harry, forever," he heard in the wind. The words didn't cease, even as Harry tried responding, though he couldn't see the source. Then - yes, was that James outside his window? He was by the water, Harry knew it!

He raced out of the house in which he was so hated as he was. He raced to someone he knew loved him. He raced to be with him again, to be with him forever, with him and Lily and Charles and Iris and Jack and Dorea-

At the end of the road, on the cliff overlooking the turbulent sea, Harry saw the image of James in his white robes, the man turning to him, seeing him and reaching a hand - then the man fell sideways into the water below, so suddenly that Harry wasn't sure the man wasn't forcefully pulled down. He ran to the edge of the cliff, looking for any sign of the man or anyone who could have taken him.

"James!" he cried out again, with more hope in his heart than grief. He had to be here…

And there! There he was, in the water - Harry was the white robes, James' warm face under the water. Never mind that the hair, the clothes didn't spread and wave as they should have in the water, or that James' mouth was still moving as if he was speaking.

He knew James was calling for him.

He knew there was only one way for him to be with his family.

And then all he knew was coldness.

LMHPLM

Lucius was heading towards his boy while the scent of the sun started to creep through the night, sharp in the murky rain left from the previous day.

But in the air, he sensed something less anticipated - the scent of his boy, too far from his home to be normal. Lucius dismounted from his horse and looked down the road, in the opposite direction of the house he had become so familiar with. He saw something that chilled his heart; Harry was crouched over the edge of the cliff the boy loved so much. Then the boy stood, his shoulders rise and fell with the bracing breath he took, and prepared to jump.

He had never moved so fast before. Harry was in the air when Lucius was suddenly behind him, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him back to safety. He fell to the ground with Harry still clutched to him, landing hard on his side, but mindful that Harry was protected from the impact.

Only to pin him to the ground in a rage. He shook Harry by the shoulders and roared, "What were you thinking? What could have possessed you to do something so _foolish_?"

Harry was weeping soundlessly, his mouth moving only as he gasped for breath. His eyes stared ahead without sight, and Lucius could not be more frightened.

Lucius carefully extracted his handkerchief, wiping away Harry's tears gently, though Harry's face was irregularly flushed from his crying. Of course, as soon as he finished cleaning away the tears, rain began to decorate his face. Lucius wrapped the boy in his arms and the white cloak he always wore, sheltering him from the rain, taking comfort in the heat coming from him, the singular sign of life which Lucius appreciated as much as the scent of his blood.

He lifted into the air, mindful that it didn't sting Harry's delicate flesh through the cloak. He shed Harry of his damp clothes, wrapping him in the fleece blanket he had long ago given Harry.

"Love, why would you waste something so precious?" he murmured against the boy's soft hair. He inhaled deeply, letting out a shuddering breath at the idea that this - he could have lost _this_, this beautiful warmth, this intoxicating scent, these hands which immediately clutched his long fingers, these pink lips on which he placed one kiss - another -

"It's your fault," Harry whispered between kisses.

Lucius drew away at the accusation. "… Harry, what are you -?"

"He stopped coming because of you."

Harry's eyes were still staring vacantly, even though Lucius knew it was he whom the boy addressed.

"And do you love him more than me?" he asked immediately.

This startled Harry out of his internal reverie.

"What?"

"This man of whom you speak, it's James, isn't it? Do you love him more than you love me?" Lucius asked patiently. He brushed the back of his hand down Harry's cheek slowly, anticipating the answer, knowing it as surely as he knew he would never see green eyes as astounding as Harry's in the centuries he would live.

"Yes."

The next night, they both acted as if the previous did not happen. Of course, Lucius shut the window behind him and drew the curtain when he entered, and Harry kept his eyes averted from Lucius' by tucking his chin under the pointed chin, but it was familiar, like any other night.

This continued, the silent precaution, the avoidance, for some time. Lucius continued to heal the boy. Harry continued to tell Lucius of the different happenings of the day. But one night, as Lucius tucked his boy in, lay a kiss on his gentle brow, he abruptly wondered if this would be enough for their last night together.

It was nothing he planned, nothing he ever considered - though considering all things, he truly should have made some preparations to leave his child. But he knew he could not stay with he little love, his Harry, a moment longer.

Because, dear Lord, he loved the boy so much, he was resolved to give Harry his last and only gift. When the boy was a man, when he understood what Lucius was, what Lucius would ask of him - only then would he return.

Perhaps, then, Harry wouldn't carry that pain in his eyes, knowing Lucius caused the absence of another friend, that mysterious James he spoke of since their first night together. Perhaps he would forgive Lucius for that crime, and for his own abrupt departure. If only Lucius didn't know what he did, of the desperate lovers who gifted too soon and regretted so quickly. It would be a sin to turn a boy so young, and if he spent one more night in his company, he knew he would be compelled to do it, if only so the boy would be distracted from his grief.

Already asleep, Harry didn't see the blood tears slowly escaping from the corner's of Lucius' eyes. He didn't feel the kisses the man pressed to his cheeks, his lips. And he missed the final promise:

"I will love you forever," he whispered to the unconscious boy. "And I will come back for you."

**Being the Epilogue**

Harry hated Friday nights. The tavern was much too busy for much too many consecutive hours. It was especially torturous if he didn't manage to sneak a bite or two before the rush of customers flooded in, because his demeanor wasn't as pleasant as it should be. He mostly hated when the men called him over to "chat." Did he _look_ like he had time to waste?

And when the dark figure in the less rowdy corner of the tavern beckoned Harry, that was his thought, along with the snippy speech he had too give much too often. But when he moved close enough to distinguish the man's features, he staggered. There was nothing exceptional about the features themselves, but the way they were composed, severe lines all over, an angry scowl, a raised eyebrow, impatient and expectant. And yet when he saw Harry stumble, the frightening, intimidating mask vanished and the man chuckled.

"Come, sit with me, Harry. It's time you and I spoke."

This he said without moving his lips - save for the upward quirk.

He was compelled to do so, but he didn't know whether it was his own decision or, as he suspected, it was through the power of this stranger.

He put down the tray on the table before them, folding his hands on the very edge, unsure of what he was expected to do now.

"Have something to drink, won't you?"

The man pressed the tray towards Harry, now heavy with a mug of Harry's favorite ale, which he dared not touch.

"Please, sir… who are you?"

"I think you know," he offered, taking his own mug and taking a small sip. "You do have fine taste, I must say."

"I've never seen you before, how could I know you?" Harry snapped.

"Oh, I think you know me quite well, Harry. You speak to me every morning when you wake, every night before you sleep, in times of distress, which, I regret, are too plentiful in your life-"

"So you expect me to believe you're- _Him_?"

"Well, if I were you, I would be wary - but I know you're not. You already believe me. You've known me all your life, and I you. The only reason you're making such a fuss is for your own peace of mind. So, if by some fluke, you're mistaken, you can tell yourself you were always suspicious, thereby lessening the blow of finding out the truth.

"But, indeed, I am He."

Harry laughed in that way the skeptical do, then in the way the hysterical do. He quickly downed a few gulps of the ale in an impulse that was not his own - he saw the man - the _being_ - quirk the corner of his lip up briefly.

"Now, as I was saying - I should not interfere, but your soul is precious, you understand. You are one of my children, and like any parent, I cannot bear the though of losing you."

"Losing… but does that mean I won't be joining my family?" His eyes watered. He knew he should be terrified at the thought of eternal fires, but he could only think of being truly separated forevermore. He had hoped when he died-

"That is entirely your choice, Harry. When you return home, you will meet an old friend of yours - I'm sure you already know to whom I refer. He will make an offer to you, and you must refuse it, or else you can never be with them."

There was only one person who Harry could think of… but no, Lucius was never real.

And yet wasn't this?

"But why are you coming to me?"

"I said before, you are my child. If I can do anything to keep you on the path Home, I will."

"Then why don't you reach out to every other damned soul?"

"And who says I haven't?"

For the first him in Harry's memory, he ran to that long-hated home. His relatives ignored him as he bounded up the stairs - what did they care if the very Devil was on his heels? - and for this, he was thankful. He opened the door so quickly, he didn't have time to wonder about just what he would find, to brace himself for that which he hoped for so desperately -

But even if he did have time, he could not have anticipated what he saw.

Before him, standing on front of his sole window, open to the chilly night, was a tall, fair figure clothed entire in white. The figure's head was ducked into the crook of his arms, in which, Harry saw, was his own pillow and fleece blanket.

Only the slightest breath escaped Harry's lips (his chest was tight, and he couldn't seem to manipulate the air within his own body), but it was enough for the man to raise his head quickly, whipping around to see the newcomer.

Harry knew those grey eyes and pale lips, he dreamed of them for ten years, but never had he seen blood streaming from the former, and never had he seen the latter trembling with overwhelming emotion.

Lucius dropped the pillow and blanket, both covered in his blood, though he had only just held them as if they were the most precious objects in the land.

Now he looked at Harry in the same was, as he always did, those years ago.

He extended one hand out to the young man, though he did not make another move closer.

"My love," he whispered in a hoarse, weak voice. "My only heart.

"I've come back for you."


End file.
